Death is Messy
by TheOneThatGotAway99
Summary: Death isn't peaceful. There's no calmly whispered last words or "peaceful passings" in the real world. The real world is dirty and gritty. Life is messy and fast-paced. Death is even more so. There is no such thing as an "honorable" death. Death is loud and painful and messy and desperate. (Not a deathfic; rated for blood/injury; all turtles, largely Leo-centric; art by Sneefee)
1. Death Isn't Peaceful

Death isn't peaceful.

There are no calmly whispered last words before the light slowly fades from their eyes, their bodies going still, last breath escaping in a quiet sigh then breathing no more.

There are no "peaceful passings" in the real world.

The real world is dirty and gritty. Life is messy and fast-paced. Death is even more so.

There is no such thing as an "honorable" death.

There is no honor in death. Only death.

There is no peace in dying. Only pain.

There is no light in darkness. Only black.

Last words are swallowed by the stench of blood, cloying copper and drying rust. Bodies flail and thrash, convulse and twitch. Last breaths stolen in piercing shrieks and bloodcurdling cries, broken screams of the dark and damned and dying.

Death is loud and painful and messy and desperate.

My name is Hamato Raphael, and I know all this all too well.

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_Disclaimer: Nothing owned, nothing gained. Obviously I have nothing._

_Author's Notes: Ummm. . . I'm not sure where this came from. I wrote it at lunch yesterday, and am typing it on my phone now, which is a first for me. As I was writing this, I was considering writing a whole story for it, a death fic or an almost-death fic. Right now it is just me getting into Raphael's head some, following two thought trains "death isn't peaceful, it's messy" and "no such thing as an honorable death". What do you guys think? Should I write more or leave it as is? Oh! First story with no Leo, unless it is continued. :D Thanks all! Love ya guys! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99_


	2. Prologue: Life and Death

**~O~**

**Prologue: Life and Death**

**~O~**

* * *

Death isn't peaceful.

.

_"Raph, put Mikey on the couch then come help me with Leo. SENSEI!"_

_"Tell me wha' ya need, Donnie."_

_"As many gauze packs as you can find, at least six suture kits, and all the disinfectant you see. I'm going to hook up an IV. He needs an immediate transfusion of blood!"_

.

There are no calmly whispered last words before the light slowly fades from their eyes, their bodies going still, last breath escaping in a quiet sigh then breathing no more.

.

_"My sons, what has happened?!"_

_"No time to explain now, Master. I need you to help Mikey. His wounds aren't bad, but need tending. Raph and I have to take care of Leo." Donatello shoves a towel, a small bottle of antiseptic, and one of the suture kits Raphael has gathered, then ushers his father out of the lab. _

.

There are no "peaceful passings" in the real world.

.

_"Raph, inventory!"_

_"Eleven gauze, six kits, seven dis-fecs."_

_"Damnit! He's already on his second bag."_

.

The real world is dirty and gritty.

.

_"Leo, bro, come on. Stay with me."_

_"Don, whatda I do now?"_

.

Life is messy and fast-paced.

.

_"Clean off as much of this blood as you can. I'll be over in a minute to start stitching."_

.

Death is even more so.

.

_Raphael rips open a sterile gauze package and dumps half the contents of one bottle onto it in his rush. As the dampened gauze brushes torn flesh, Leonardo lets out a horrible wail of agony._

.

There is no such thing as an "honorable" death.

.

_When the wails die down to moans, they can hear Mikey in the living room spewing a continuous litany of "It's all my fault, it's all my fault, he's hurt because of me, my fault, all my fault"._

.

There is no honor in death. Only death.

.

_"Shit! Mike's goin' into shock."_

_"__**Emotional**__ shock. Sensei will take care of him. Leo is __**bleeding out**__."_

.

There is no peace in dying. Only pain.

.

_Leonardo's screams pick up again as Raphael repeatedly wipes away at the blood still pooling around the wounds where Donatello has yet to suture. He's gone through half the gauze now. Raphael throws down the soiled cloth and snatches up a clean white towel to stanch the flow._

.

There is no light in darkness. Only black.

.

_"No no no no! The tip of the sickle broke off inside the wound. It's imbedded in his plastron. I have to get it out before I can finish closing it. Raph, suture the wound on his leg, then work on his shoulder. If we can take care of the smaller injuries as we go we might be able to—" He doesn't finish his sentence, but the weight of it is as much a burden as their brother's screams._

.

Last words are swallowed by the stench of blood, cloying copper and drying rust.

.

_"It's all my fault, all my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, it's all my fault."_

_Michelangelo rocks back and forth on his spot on the couch, eyes wide and tears pouring, as Splinter tries to clean and suture the shallow but long wound on his youngest's tender side flesh between shell and plastron._

_"My son, please, calm yourself."_

.

Bodies flail and thrash, convulse and twitch.

.

_Donatello reaches the sterilized pliers into the wound for the third time, but just as he is about to grasp the sharpened steel between the two points, Leonardo's torso jerks away with a mewling cry._

_"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Raph! Hold him down so I can get it out! Forget the shoulder! This is more urgent!"_

.

Last breaths stolen in piercing shrieks and bloodcurdling cries, broken screams of the dark and damned and dying.

.

_Raphael does his best to hold his injured brother still as he bucks and thrashes and screams under their ministrations. Donatello succeeds in retrieving the metal and signals Raph to return to fixing Leonardo's shoulder. But they both freeze when Leonardo's scream morphs into a wet gurgle._

.

Death is loud.

.

_"It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault."_

.

And painful.

.

_"No! I checked his airway! It was clear! No internal bleeding!"_

.

And messy.

.

_"My son, Michelangelo, please, tell me what happened!"_

.

And desperate.

.

_"Raph! Get the ventilator! We have to intubate him!"_

.

My name is Hamato Raphael.

.

_"It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It's all my fault."_

.

And I know all this

.

_"Leo! Leo, stay with me! Damnit! No! We're losing him!"_

.

All too well.

.

_"LEO!"_

.

* * *

(To be continued. . .)

* * *

_Author's Notes: You okay? You good? Need to pause there for a moment and collect yourself?_

_Well, I continued it. More than tripled it. Told you Leo would show up if I did. I blame Gallifrey Girl 9 and NokaKomi for this. Galli requested I continue and when I said it would be dark and bloody, she basically said the darker the better. Nino just said it was missing a reason for why Raph was thinking those things. This has now become a prologue to what will be a longer story. But what do you guys think? Should the next chapter be continuing with this chapter, or going back to the beginning of how it happened? I have ideas for either one, so it is up to you all. Love ya! Take care! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99_


	3. Closer to the Middle

_Author's Notes: I was coerced into continuing from the previous chapter under the threat that I would give a number of my readers a heart attack if I didn't. Well, Nino, here you go. Though, of course, being me, the fact that I was coerced into it, means I am going to make you all work for it. I'm sure you will recognize bits of this. ;D Enjoy._

* * *

**~O~**

**Closer to the Middle**

**~O~**

* * *

Donatello bursts through the lair door and heads straight for the lab, a bleeding and barely conscious Leonardo cradled in his arms. "Raph, put Mikey on the couch then come help me with Leo. SENSEI!"

Raphael does as instructed and gently sets Michelangelo, whom Raphael had just been carrying in a fireman's carry, on to the faded blue sofa, before turning to his purple clad brother who was already halfway to the lab. "Tell me wha' ya need, Donnie."

Donatello lays Leonardo on a cot in the middle of the lab and quickly preforms a recheck on all of Leonardo's injuries before answering. "As many gauze packs as you can find, at least six suture kits, and all the disinfectant you see. I'm going to hook up an IV. He needs an _immediate_ transfusion of blood!" Donatello matches words to actions as he grabs a handful of bags filled with blood from the lab fridge, connecting one to a sterile tube and needle. He expertly slips the thin gauged needle into the vein in Leonardo's right wrist.

Just as he is finished hanging the blood bag on the IV pole fashioned from a salvaged coatrack, Splinter rushes through the door of the makeshift infirmary. He takes one sweeping glance of the scene before him, eyes locking on his blood coated eldest. "My sons, what has happened?!" he immediately demands, his concern palpable in the air.

"No time to explain now, Master. I need you to help Mikey. His wounds aren't bad, but need tending. Raph and I have to take care of Leo." Donatello shoves a towel, a small bottle of antiseptic, and one of the suture kits Raphael has gathered, then ushers his father out of the lab.

"Raph, inventory!" Donatello calls as he checks Leonardo's pulse and blood pressure again.

"Eleven gauze, six kits, seven dis-fecs," Raphael counts off, his plunders gathered on a cleared table beside the cot Leonardo lays on.

"Damnit! He's already on his second bag." Donatello tosses the empty blood bag and attaches a full one to the IV. Leonardo moans quietly, his head rolls to the side, eyes threatening to drift shut. "Leo, bro, come on. Stay with me."

"Don, whatda I do now?" Raphael asks, unsure of what to do, trying to force his panic shaking hands to still.

"Clean off as much of this blood as you can," Donatello orders, grabbing one of the suture kits and pulling it open. "I'll be over in a minute to start stitching."

Raphael rips open a sterile gauze package and dumps half the contents of one bottle onto it in his rush. As the dampened gauze brushes torn flesh, Leonardo lets out a horrible wail of agony.

They both flinch as the noise assaults them, but quickly get back to their tasks with renewed fervor.

When the wails die back down to moans, they can hear Michelangelo in the living room spewing a continuous litany of "It's all my fault, it's all my fault, he's hurt because of me, my fault, all my fault".

"Shit! Mike's goin' into shock," Raphael swears, recognizing the symptoms upon hearing Michelangelo's traumatized mantra. He looks up from cleaning the wound with his fourth roll of gauze and glances at the door to the lair beyond, wishing he could be out there to help Michelangelo.

Donatello shakes his head and replies vehemently, "_Emotional_ shock. Sensei will take care of him. Leo is _bleeding out_." He doesn't look up, focusing solely on stitching Leonardo's wounds.

There's nothing either of them can do to help Michelangelo right now other than what they are doing at this moment, saving Leonardo's life. Michelangelo will be fine so long as Leonardo is alive. He has to be.

Leonardo's screams pick up again as Raphael repeatedly wipes away at the blood still pooling around the wounds where Donatello has yet to suture. He's gone through half the gauze now. Raphael throws down the soiled cloth and snatches up a clean white towel to stanch the flow.

"No no no no!" Donatello groans as he sees the source of the continued blood flow, and notices something he hadn't before. "The tip of the sickle broke off inside the wound. It's imbedded in his plastron. I have to get it out before I can finish closing it. Raph, suture the wound on his leg, then work on his shoulder. If we can take care of the smaller injuries as we go we might be able to—" He doesn't finish his sentence, but the weight of it is as much a burden as their brother's screams.

Again, Raphael obeys the order without question, moving to clean and stitch the shallow wound on Leonardo's left leg.

The first time Donatello places the sterilized pliers into his brother's wound, his hand is shaking too much to grasp it firmly enough. The second time, Leonardo jostles before he even gets close to the sickle tip.

Donatello reaches the pliers into the wound for the third time, but just as he is about to grasp the sharpened steel between the two points, Leonardo's torso jerks away with a mewling cry.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Raph! Hold him down so I can get it out! Forget the shoulder! This is more urgent!"

Raphael does his best to hold his injured brother still as he bucks and thrashes and screams under their ministrations. Donatello succeeds in retrieving the metal and signals Raphael to return to fixing Leonardo's shoulder. But they both freeze when Leonardo's scream morphs into a wet gurgle.

"No! I checked his airway! It was clear! No internal bleeding!" Donatello's blood soaked hands hover over his wheezing brother, suddenly uncertain of what to do. "It-it must have been that – a chemical or something – in that dart they hit him with. He's reacting badly to it." As Leonardo's breathing hitches, Donatello's frantic fingers find their way on either side of Leonardo's head, cradling gently. "Raph! Get the ventilator! We have to intubate him!"

Raphael dashes towards the requested machine and hauls it over to the table. "What do we do, Don?" He implores, voice pleading, but confident that his genius brother will know what to do.

"Come on, Leo, come on," Donatello coaxes as he eases the tracheal tube down Leonardo's throat. "We're going to have to flush his system free of the drug. Get out three bags of saline solution from the cooler. Set them on the table, then finish stitching the chest wound. The sooner we get the bleeding stopped, the better." As Raphael again does so without question, Donatello attaches the breathing tube to the ventilator, and slips another IV into Leonardo's other arm. Donatello mentally dismisses the possibility of internal bleeding. He had checked and double checked; he _knew_ there was no internal bleeding. He'd stake all their lives on it.

Just as that thought crosses his mind, Leonardo's eyes roll up into his head and his body begins to convulse.

"No no no!" Donatello rushes to strap down Leonardo's arms to keep him from dislodging the IVs. "Leo! Leo, stay with me!" he begs his pain stricken brother. "_Raph!_ The saline!"

Raphael runs up with three bags of clear liquid marked 'saline'. He deposits two of them, and tosses the third to Donatello, who quickly hooks it to the empty IV tube and passes it back to Raphael. "Squeeze as hard as you can without breaking it. I have to close this wound before he bleeds to death." With both the continued blood transfusion and the now added saline, death by blood loss was less likely but still possible, and the likelihood of infection was great. He climbs onto the cot and straddles Leonardo in an attempt to keep him still while he attacks the wound on the leader's chest with a suture needle. "Damnit!" A violent shudder dislodges the needle again, but Donatello's focus is absolute. He finishes stitching the largest and last of Leonardo's injuries, just as Raphael is attaching the third saline bag to the second IV.

Leonardo is gasping and gurgling around the tube in his throat for breath as his body continues to convulse. Donatello holds Leonardo down as best he can, fighting against his brother's jerking muscles, wishing there was something more he can do, but knowing there is nothing to be done until the seizure is over.

With a final gasp and twitch, Leonardo abruptly, ominously, and entirely falls still. A moment passes in utter silence save for the ebb and flow of the ventilator, Raphael and Donatello both holding their breaths, both too relieved and too concerned that the seizure has passed.

Donatello reaches a tentative hand to check his brother's wrist for a pulse. "No!" he yells, quickly checking Leonardo's pulse at his neck, once more feeling nothing, before beginning CPR around his plastron and freshly stitched injuries. "We're losing him!"

"LEO!" Raphael shouts in desperation, dropping the half empty IV bag to run to the head of the cot. The ventilator provides rescue breathing as Donatello expertly pounds on the injured leader's chest in an attempt to restart his failing heart, Raphael finds himself with nothing to do, no way to help, but a desperate need to touch his far too pale brother wells up inside him and he can't find the will to even try to resist.

He places his hands on either side of Leonardo's head, leaning over his still face. He and Donatello had left bloody fingerprints and smudges across Leonardo's face and neck while they had worked on him. Raphael's eyes burn as he fights back the emotions trying to overwhelm him. He leans his head against Leonardo's uninjured shoulder, hiding from the sight of the tube jammed down his big brother's throat. He wants to yell; he wants to shout. He wants to feel anger and go out and punch and kick and _hurt_ something. But all he can feel is fear. A cold, sickening dread slowly extinguishing all the flames of his anger. As Donatello continues his ministrations without success, Raphael's voice comes out barely over a whisper as he pleads with his only older brother. "Leo. Please. You can't leave like this. Not like this. There's no honor in this. You live yer whole life practicin' bushido. There's no honor in abandonin' yer family. Come on, Fearless. Open yer eyes. Don't leave us. Don't leave us. Open yer eyes. . ."

The sound of a muffled gasp around a breathing tube makes Raphael lift his head, only to see two dark brown eyes, almost onyx in color, lock gazes with his own golden amber. "Leo."

"I have a pulse," Donatello announces in a huff of relief that is more breath than voice, but the words are as unmistakable as the life shining in Leonardo's dark eyes. Though somewhat clouded with pain and whatever drug that is still leaving his system, the emotions that show in those dark orbs flitting back and forth between Raphael's are clear. Love, reassurance, determination. Leonardo had heard Raphael's pleas, and is now determined to live. No matter what.

* * *

_To be continued. . ._

* * *

_Author's Notes: There, see? No cliffhanger! Yay! Told you I would make you work for it though, seeing as this is just a filled out version of the previous chapter. But the previous cliffhanger has been resolved now. Special bonus: It is long, 1,800 plus words, excluding this enormously long author's note, which I apologize for. Seems like a perfect ending, right? (To a point, anyway. I can't seem to make it any better though, so I guess you will just have to deal.) Well, I didn't name this chapter 'Closer To The Middle' for nothing, people. I also got that chapter name idea, as well as the ones to come, from the wonderful Kay the Cricketed's (uncompleted and untouched for nearly six years __*sigh*__) story 'Clarity, Her Tomb'. And whom I truly hope won't mind that slight intrusion. __Seeing __as there has been no activity on that account for quite some time, I feel safe in the assumption that Kay will not even notice. Next chapter will be 'Closer To The Beginning', and then I will tie it all up with a 'Closer To The End' after that. Possibly an epilogue if the feeling arises. _

_Pardon me, but I'm going to talk aimlessly for a moment. I am currently sitting on the floor with my laptop, hiding in the bathroom because I am supposed to be cleaning my room right now, but have instead decided to finish writing this chapter. Yes, I am nineteen years old and should be mature enough to just clean my room, even without being told, but I have a Michelangelo bedroom. If you saw it, you would be afraid to clean it too. O.O Not sure how that happened. I am usually a tidy person (oddly, my sisters laugh every time I say that), but since starting college last fall, the task of keeping my bedroom manageable seems to have fallen to the bottom of my list. . . Oh well. It must be done. Thank you for enduring my insufferable and unbearably useless tirade. If you truly read to this point than you are a fine person indeed and how I came to have such a reader as you, I may never know. Thank you for your time and I hope you will drop me a line, I do so love to talk. :) Hope you enjoyed! Take care! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99 _


	4. Closer to the Beginning

_Warning: moderately graphic depictions of violence, injury, and death. But if you didn't know that was coming, you're obviously reading the wrooooong story. xD_

* * *

**~O~**

**Closer to the Beginning**

**~O~**

* * *

That _something could go wrong_, is a thought always in the back of his mind every time he and his brothers go topside, even if it's just a training run or a trip to the store or city dump. In their way of living, it's better to be paranoid than dead, after all.

But on nights like tonight – quiet and pleasantly warm, when it seems the would-be criminals of the city have other things to occupy their time on such a nice night other than acts of violence and committing crime – that thought becomes a distant whisper.

But, when things _do_ go wrong on this calm, quiet night, the only thought running through Leonardo's mind aside from thoughts of the battle and his brothers, is _how could things have gone_**so**_wrong?_

Leonardo dodges yet another machete blade to the head, taking a step back to create some distance between himself and his green clad opponents. There are six of them; three still standing and a fourth loitering a short distance away, observing the goings-on. The other two had been taken down mere moments before, both lying in unconscious heaps upon the asphalt-covered ground.

Glancing back over his shoulder at Michelangelo, worried blue eyes watching warily, Leonardo repositions himself protectively in front of his youngest brother again, swords raised. Stance defensive and firm, despite the blood slowly dripping from his left shoulder. Leonardo works to steady his breathing as two of the three urban guerrillas attack as one, each armed with a serrated hunting knife in one hand and a weighted nightstick in the other.

It had been a game. Just a game, decided on a spontaneous whim, much to the delight of his brothers. A simple game of ninja hide-and-seek-turned-tag on a rare nice night to allow them all to let out some pent up energy; a way to have fun and bond, while still training and honing their skills.

So, they went, despite that constant thought of _something could go wrong_ and the slightest nudging of a bad feeling that wriggled its way into his mind the moment the four of them had gathered on a rooftop nearby the night's chosen manhole cover exit. For, when he voiced his slight concern, he was immediately met with a trio of disappointed faces and a pair of pleading baby blue eyes, which quickly silenced his intangible unease.

Now, seeing those same eyes filled with worry and the smallest spark of fear, Leonardo wishes nothing more than that they had returned back to the lair the moment they set foot outside. At least then they could have avoided this entire upsetting situation.

When Michelangelo had been chosen as 'It', Donatello and Raphael had immediately bolted in different directions, both eager to evade Michelangelo for as long as possible. Leonardo took to the shadows, trying to keep track of where everyone was. They had all agreed on a limited play area, but that still left roughly four square miles for them to run around in.

Because of that, Leonardo had swiftly lost sight of both his middle brothers by the time Michelangelo finished counting to two hundred and – rather unnecessarily – loudly shouted out, "Ready or not, here I come!"

Shaking his head in fond amusement, Leonardo had silently slunk away to see if he could spot where the others were hidden. He didn't go far as, all of five minutes after the game had started, trouble found them.

While he surely wasn't the only one to hear the initial blast of the explosive charge, Leonardo was the only one who had stayed close enough to also hear Michelangelo's accompanying yelp of pain and surprise as the fire escape the orange-banded ninja had been climbing – along with half of the brick wall it was attached to – collapsed around him with no warning, pinning him beneath its weight.

It had taken Leonardo seconds flat to get to where Michelangelo fell, only to find six men closing in on the youngest turtle. All six were armed with various weapons and clothed in green camouflage that likely wouldn't hide them anywhere in the city except maybe Central Park.

He jumped into the fray, easily taking out one man thanks to the element of surprise. The second guy was a little more difficult – these men had obviously been well trained – but his skill surpassed theirs' and Leonardo dispatched the man quickly still.

With their paramilitary assailants moving in on the trapped turtle, Leonardo is continually given no time to attempt to free Michelangelo. Despite his struggles, Michelangelo can't move the heavy brick and metal structure holding him in place on his own, unable to find decent leverage pinned lying flat on his plastron. So as events unfold, he is forced to simply watch as Leonardo defends him.

Leonardo dodges a hunting knife coming at him from one side, and blocks a baton with his arm from the other. He kicks out at the man in the center, sending him sprawling, while simultaneously yanking the nightstick out of the hand of the man on his right. He aims the club at the man's head, but he dodges at the last minute, the wooden stick instead hitting a shoulder joint with a meaty _thunk_.

Leonardo attacks the man on his right, whose knife had managed to slice into his arm earlier. He tackles the man to the ground, knocking the blade from his hand. The blood tainted knife skids away across the asphalt, disappearing within the trash and debris piled along the edges and walls of the alley. A swift blow to the head knocks the disarmed man unconscious. Leonardo rises to his feet, expecting the other two to have closed in on him by now, but they've drawn back instead.

Leonardo uses the loll to retake his spot in front of Michelangelo, quickly tossing his shell cell into his brother's hands without looking back at him – Michelangelo's own having been damaged in the fall, spitting out sparks occasionally where it lay impaled on a metal pole a few feet away. Unsheathing his katana, the young leader keeps his eyes locked on their assailants, watching as the still-conscious knife and machete wielders fall back to flank the man who had previously kept to the fringe of the fight.

The camouflaged man certainly lives up to the animal equivalent of the title of guerilla, his muscle mass reminding Leonardo of Raphael, though few could quite match his brother's hulking build. The rest of the men are varying heights and builds, but all well-toned and well-seasoned in battle. The man has yet to reveal a weapon, but Leonardo knows him to be armed. He takes a step closer, eyes scanning Leonardo appraisingly. Leonardo shifts into a defensive stance, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of being examined.

"So you're Leonardo," the man says with a cold smile and a thick voice, traces of a Spanish accent is heard in the slight rolling of his R's and pronunciation of vowels. "The Blue Demon."

He gives no response, not even a flicker of surprise that these men – likely mercenaries – know his name. The man stands in sharp relief, a shaded silhouette backlit by the glaring yellow-orange of the streetlight. The glare serves to hide the man's face from Leonardo, while, at the same time, illuminating the end of the dead-end alley that Michelangelo lays. His brother had landed in a veritable spotlight. But Leonardo stands before him, in light as plain as day; Michelangelo tucked away safely in his older brother's shadow.

A moment passes and the man continues, leaning to the side to look around the standing turtle towards the wreckage behind. "And you must be Michelangelo, yes? El más joven. The youngessst." He draws out the last syllable into a goading hiss, making the man holding the machete chuckle at some sort of inside joke.

Leonardo moves his swords to obscure – if not entirely block – the men's view of his trapped brother, simultaneously signaling Michelangelo to remain silent. He isn't sure how to play the situation yet, but he doesn't want Michelangelo drawing any extra attention to himself. He's given Michelangelo plenty of time to contact Donatello and Raphael by now, so he merely needs to bide time until the cavalry arrives.

"We certainly picked the right target," the man tells his companions who both jeer in agreement. "What clan leader would not come to protect the smallest of his own?"

"_Leo?_" comes a whisper from behind, only just loud enough for his sensitive hearing to pick up. The men are definitely not here by accident, then. Their target: the young leader himself, attacking his brother to lure him in. He knows Michelangelo is worried after reaching the same conclusion, but he has nothing to reassure him with, instead signaling for silence once more.

When Leonardo makes no move, mentally calculating that it has to have been at least four or five minutes and that Raphael and Donatello have to be getting close, the man tilts his head ever so slightly, as though expecting Leonardo to say or do something.

When nothing is forthcoming, the man dips his head forward in acknowledgement. "You have nothing to say. Very well. Let us not draw this out." He signals the two men at his flanks, taking a step back as the other two step forth to resume their previous fight.

Leonardo quickly jumps back into battle, blocking the machete aimed at his injured arm while sweeping a kick towards the man holding the hunting knife. The man dodges the kick, aiming a vicious punch at Leonardo's head. He ducks beneath the fist, and, as the man stumbles forward from the excess force of a blow that didn't land, Leonardo braces his shoulder against the man's center mass and _shoves_. Forward momentum and upward thrust cause the man to fly up and over Leonardo's shoulder in a move that he and his brothers had practiced dozens of times in the dojo and on each other. The man lands flat on his back, air escaping him in a huffing "_ooffph_", knife soaring from hand.

Leonardo turns away from the dazed man to his remaining opponent just in time to dodge the booted foot flying at his face. He drops into a roll, moving to the right and standing in one swift motion, the machete missing him by inches as it clashes against the ground. Leonardo kicks out at the man, bringing his katana up when the machete makes its reappearance. He stops the knife in the crux of his crossed swords, locking the three blades in his favor, easily keeping his opponent at bay for the time being.

A sudden movement on his peripheral vision has Leonardo's head snapping to the left, and he instantly realizes his mistake in moving the fight away from Michelangelo.

Leonardo had assumed the man who had spoken before would simply go back to standing off to the side, and had all but dismissed him as a major threat. He'd assumed Michelangelo would be safer if the fighting wasn't happening so near his brother, and had led his opponents nearly across the width of the alley. All of it he had assumed wrong.

_He hadn't been just standing there_, Leonardo thinks to himself as the man moves closer to his trapped brother. _He was watching my movements, waiting for an opening to get past me._

_And I just let him_, he berates, throwing off his machete-wielding opponent and running to intercept.

Struggling anew, the orange banded turtle tries vainly to free himself. "Leo!"

The man, seemingly the leader of the tiny militia that stands against them, draws closer to Michelangelo and unsheathes a large sickle from a pouch on his belt. The crescent moon shaped steel gleams strangely in the yellow light, but Leonardo has no time to think about why as the man suddenly swipes the blade at his brother.

Michelangelo brings his arm up to defend himself just in time, the sharpened point of the sickle biting into the skin of his forearm instead of his head or neck.

Before the man can instigate another attack, Leonardo is upon him. Shifting his upper body and using the momentum of his all-out run, he swings both katana in a sideways arch. "_Get away from my brother!_" Leonardo snarls, his demand punctuated by the singing clash of steel on steel as the swords make contact with the sickle, knocking it away from the two brothers.

The man stumbles back from the sheer force of the blow, but manages to keep both his footing and his grasp on his weapon. Letting out a huff that sounds somewhere between frustration and amusement, the man replies with a drawn out, "So be it."

Leonardo is expecting the attack that comes, having predicted it from the subtleties of the man's body language, so he easily deflects the weapon aimed at him and delivers one of his own. The man dances just out of reach of Leonardo's katana before dancing back in range to try for another pass. Leonardo's blade intercepts, the other arching around in retaliation, but it harmlessly glances off the reinforced bracer on the man's arm.

When Leonardo swings his sword around again, and, again, the man slithers out of reach, he expects his assailant to jump right back into the fight. When the man backs further away instead, Leonardo is confused. He warily holds his stance in front of his brother, this time having been sure his footing kept him near, and waits for something to happen.

A moment passes and something does, as the man suddenly shouts "Ahora!"

Four men, two on either side of the alley – on either side of Leonardo – suddenly appear on the rooftops and windowsills above him, each with a matte black gun in hand. The first shot goes wide, surprisingly quiet, and Leonardo steps even closer to his trapped brother. The second and third shots are much closer and Leonardo sees that they are not bullets, but darts. The next shots would surly have hit their mark on the young leader, had he not used his katana to cut them from the air, dropping them to the ground before they can inject him with their unknown substances.

Leonardo manages to hold his own against the barrage, sending his own projectiles in the way of shuriken. He disables one man and kills another, but the two remaining shooters suddenly alter their trajectory, aiming instead for Michelangelo.

Self-defense is something all of the four brothers can do pretty much in their sleep. Dodging or blocking projectiles is a basic part of their daily training. But with Michelangelo pinned down and exposed, completely vulnerable to any ranged attack, it would be impossible for Leonardo to block them all; will alone can't stop them. So when an inevitable needled point sinks into warm reptilian flesh while Leonardo aims to take out a third assailant, Leonardo can only think how glad he is that he was the one to get hit and not his baby brother.

He rips the dart from his arm, but he knows it has already delivered its payload.

With three of the men down, it is easy for Leonardo to pick off the last one, the man falling dead on the roof with a star to the throat.

A sudden wave of dizziness has Leonardo stumbling slightly as he tries to steady his stance.

"Leo?" Michelangelo asks behind him, and Leonardo knows his baby brother had seen the dart hit home.

"I'm okay," he tries to reassure, shaking his head. He blinks a few times to clear his vision, then gives his head another shake to get himself to focus.

"Leo!"

This time, Michelangelo's voice is laced with warning and it has Leonardo spinning around just in time to see the mercenary leader charging with his sickle raised. The unknown substance spreading through his blood is slowing his reflexes at an alarming rate, though, and he only manages to stumble back a few steps and bring his arm up in a clumsy block before the brute has Leonardo on the ground. Rippling muscle and finely honed steel send the blood tipped blade straight through his plastron for a few inches before the natural armor finally stops it. Leonardo bites back the scream trying to force itself out, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction, but Michelangelo screams on in the background—screaming for Leonardo.

Teeth gritted and breathing hard through the pain, Leonardo stares up into the man's face as the mercenary begins talking again.

"You've fought well, compadre, better than I had anticipated. But you won't win this fight."

Right hand busy keeping the sickle from being pushed any deeper into his chest, Leonardo reaches his left down to his belt, unsheathing a small tanto knife. The three inch blade soon finds itself slit between the hulking mercenary's ribs. He jumps back, off of Leonardo, at the surprise attack, but he rips the sickle away with him.

Perversely, the pain enables Leonardo to keep fighting, adrenaline overpowering the unknown drug's effects, and he is on his feet almost instantly, katana again grasped in his hands.

He is only peripherally aware of familiar voices shouting behind him as he charges the last man. Their blades meet with a powerful clang, and the man has to take a step back to maintain his stance. His eyes are wary as he stares at the enraged turtle. He tries to break the lock on his sickle, but Leonardo holds firm, shoving the mercenary back another step.

"Vete o te voy a matar," Leonardo hiss angrily in the man's face. [_Leave or I will kill you_]

The man stares back in enraged shock. He may have known their names, but this man obviously didn't know that Leonardo had picked up a few languages during his eighteen months of training in South America two years ago.

The man recovers quickly, trying again to break the lock with brute force, but Leonardo remains unmoved. "Tu familia nunca va estar protegida." [_Your family will never be safe._]

"Vete y no vuelvas. O te voy a matar," Leonardo repeats, his voice as hard as the steel he uses to keep the man back. [_Leave and don't come back. Or I will kill you._]

"Los voy a matar uno por uno," the man threatens, but it only serves to fuel Leonardo's anger. [_I will kill them one by one_]

Before he can continue his threat, Leonardo shouts, "¡Vete!" with all the authority he has. "¡Ahora!" [_Leave! Now!_]

"Nunca," the man growls in defiance. [_Never_]

Leonardo suddenly breaks the lock on their blades, sending the man – hulking weight and all – back another two steps. He brings his katana up, his eyes almost glowing with the dark intent flowing through him. "So be it," he states, purposely repeating the man's earlier words.

The mercenary blocks the first two blows, then dodges the third, but Leonardo's fourth swing slices into his knee, sending him back another step until the man's back is flush with the alley wall. Nothing but thoughts of his family and the danger this man posed to them fills his mind as Leonardo sees his opening, and takes it without hesitation.

Their tormentor slides limply down the wall, red staining the brickwork behind him, his head stopping its roll a few feet away, fixed forever in a permanent wide-eyed scowl.

Leonardo steps away from his opponent, harmless now in his death. The adrenaline that had been keeping him going quickly drains away with the elimination of threat. His legs buckle beneath him and Leonardo falls to his knees.

Hands are suddenly on him, but it takes him longer than it should to recognize them as his brother's. "Hey, Leo. You got 'im. 's okay. It's Raph, it's just me. Yer okay."

"Raph?" Leonardo gasps, only just noticing how out of breath he feels. "Where's Mmm. . . Is Mi-Mikey—Is Mikey okay? I don't – I don't. . . I couldn't – Mikey," he stutters out. He can't seem to make his tongue work the way it should, and his mind is quickly fogging over.

"Mike's fine, Leo. He's okay. Don's with 'im," Raphael tries to reassure.

"Th-they hit mmme with something, a da—a dart. I don't – I don't – Mikey . . . I couldn't – I'm sorry, I couldn't . . . Raph, where's Donnie?" His words are starting to slur as the drug's effects continue to set in.

"Don," Raphael calls, and the urgency in his voice is not lost on Leonardo. In less than a second, Leonardo is blearily blinking up at his purple-clad brother who seemingly appeared from nowhere. "Don, he's been—"

"Drugged, I know, Mikey told me," Donatello replies brusquely, kneeling beside the now-horizontal Leonardo. The young leader finds it odd that he can follow his brothers' exchange with ease, but didn't even realize that Raphael had laid him on the ground until now. "Probably a tranquilizer of some kind that is reacting adversely to his mutated blood." Donatello pulls something out from his belt and Leonardo is unable to bite back a sudden moan of pain when something is pushed against the bleeding wound on his chest. "That'll hopefully slow the bleeding until we make it back to the lair. I'll carry him, you help Mike. We need to leave before any more of them show up."

The prone leader feels the absence as his hot-tempered brother moves away before Donatello's arms curl around him. Leonardo manages to swallow the pained sound that tries to escape as he is gently lifted and cradled close to his genius brother's lean torso.

His head spins at the change in altitude and they've already started moving by the time he is able to force a single word from his mouth. "Donnie. . ." The rest of his plea is lost in the ether as the muscles in his lips and tongue fail to form sounds into the thoughts currently screaming in his head.

"It's okay, Leo. We're fine. Mikey, Raph, and I are all fine. We're going home. I've got you," Donatello sooths, seemingly knowing exactly what Leonardo needs to hear to calm his half incoherent mind. "We're okay and we are going home to fix you up just fine. Everyone's fine."

As Leonardo focuses on his brother's soft words in his compromised state, he doesn't notice the haste with which the purple-clad turtle moves towards the nearest manhole cover. He doesn't notice as Donatello urges Raphael to go faster, prompting the forest green turtle to pull a sore and tired Michelangelo up across his broad shoulders in a fireman's carry so he can travel faster. He doesn't notice as his two middle brothers all but dash in a dead run down the sewer tunnels towards their lair, stealth sacrificed for speed as their feet splash loudly with every step. He doesn't notice as they sprint into the lair, Donatello calling out for their master. He doesn't notice as he is placed on a cot in his brother's lab, doesn't notice Raphael returning to his side nor where he had been. He doesn't notice as Donatello barks out orders nor as Raphael follows them instantly.

He doesn't notice as his mind drifts in a drug filled fog of haze and pain where thought cannot exist. He doesn't notice as he screams and moans and gurgles. He doesn't notice as he bucks and jerks and twitches. He doesn't notice as his brothers hover beside and on top of him, struggling to save his life.

He doesn't notice when his heart stops and his haze dissolves into darkness.

But he notices the moment it starts again. Then, all he can do is notice. He notices the combined voices of two of his brothers as they pull him back from the dark. He notices the breathing tube taking residence in his throat granting him much needed air. He notices the needles in his wrists giving him much needed fluids. He notices the restraints on his arms, but, noticing where he is, he does not fight them. He notices his mind becoming clearer than it has been in however long it's been; minutes, hours, days? He notices the increase of his own self-control over the pain, if not quite a slight diminishing of the pain itself. Donatello's audible, joyful relief. Raphael's pleading, thankful eyes.

And in that moment, body weak and mind weary while pain still courses through him like a devouring fire, Leonardo wordlessly promises himself and his family one thing:

**_We will make it through this. No matter what._**

* * *

To be continued. . .

* * *

_Author's Note: It's my story, so I'm allowed to end the chapter with the same sentiment as the previous chapter, so there. :P But yay! I got this finished for you all! See? I'm not as cruel you first thought. Or, well, maybe I am, since I did just kind of torture Leo and Mikey. . . but at least you now know what happened! On a slightly darker note, I had not intended for Leo to kill the unnamed mercenary leader (Nino and I have taken to calling him Ben, but I blame her entirely for that xD), but somehow Leo did it while I wasn't looking and he forbade me from changing it (DON'T PISS OFF THE BLUE DEMON!) so there was nothing I could do. I might still bring him back some time in an unrelated story, as I rather like (dislike?) his villainous attributes. He speaks English and Spanish, and while he technically is probably more South American and his Spanish should reflect more Portuguese (etc.) influences, my translator (a dear friend and fluent in Spanish, Shout out to my home boy!) is Hispanic (read: American-born Mexican) so I was left to make do. Forgive my transgressions._

_What is with me and long A/Ns for this story?_

_Tell me what you think of this chapter, and the story as a whole so far please, if you feel so inclined. I know it is rather a long time coming, but you cannot rush perfection! ;D Speaking of, I've done a few minor edits to the previous chapter, merely for quality's sake. I actually plan on doing so with all of my stories here soon, since my two year FFdotnet anniversary is coming up in a few months. Can't believe it has already been two years! Love ya all! You all are quite fantastic! Take care! God bless!_

_-TheOneThatGotAway99_


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